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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29404596">Power Play</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/commanderdameron/pseuds/commanderdameron'>commanderdameron</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Suburbicon (2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Creampie, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fingerfucking, Hand Jobs, Vaginal Sex, author knows nothing about either law or insurance, but presumably it doesn't involve quite so much</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:20:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,297</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29404596</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/commanderdameron/pseuds/commanderdameron</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You're a lawyer representing a client who's going to court for insurance fraud. When the newest claims investigator at Canyon Property &amp; Life refuses to cooperate, you take it upon yourself to go into the office and get the paperwork he's holding back.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bud Cooper/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The newest bastard at Canyon Property &amp; Life is giving you the run-around.</p><p>You’re near-convinced that they tell every agent to hold back files, signatures, any number of stray pieces of paper that could be the difference between a verdict of ‘guilty’ or ‘not guilty.’ <em>Make those damn lawyers work for it</em>, you can just imagine the bosses saying. <em>Make sure we don’t have to pay out a cent more than possible</em>.</p><p>Between your firm and these agents, there are lots of crooks trying to prevent justice from being served in both directions.</p><p>Maybe you’d be a bit more incensed if you couldn’t tell that your client is <em>absolutely</em> trying to commit insurance fraud.</p><p>As it is, you’re just annoyed. They shouldn’t be bothering with these stupid tricks, not when the case is so cut-and-dry. It’s exactly the sort of thing that gives insurance companies a bad name.</p><p>Which maybe you wouldn’t mind, except that right now, it’s making your life harder.</p><p>In this case, “making your life harder” means constantly being sent to voicemail or being told that <em>Mr. Cooper is out of the office</em> until his poor assistant must hate you for all the nagging that you’re being forced to do.</p><p>So really, this <em>Mr. Cooper</em> has brought it upon himself when you take time out of your very busy afternoon to slip out of the firm early and drive down to Canyon Prop. &amp; Life. You’d like to see him try to keep you from those files when you’re willing to sit in that waiting room all night.</p><p>When all is said and done, though, it’s more like an hour and a half. Several of the other agents and assistants recognize you – this is far from the first time that you’ve had to <em>do</em> this – and you see a few of them react with amusement when they realize that you are sitting outside of Mr. Cooper’s office. Yes—perhaps you have something of a reputation around the office for not putting up with their bull shit.</p><p>His assistant, Beverly, does <em>not</em> know you – except from the multitude of phone calls, of course – but she’s gracious enough, offering you a cup of coffee after she apologetically tells you that <em>Mr. Cooper’s schedule is full up for the rest of the day.</em></p><p>And you don’t bear the girl any ill will—it’s not her fault that her boss is being a dick. So you accept the coffee and don’t bother to comment on the fact that you can see his schedule right there on Beverly’s desk, and his afternoon is wide fucking open.</p><p>But that’s not how you play this game.</p><p>You sit, and you wait until they invite you in. They think that they are holding all the cards.</p><p>It is the only point during the interaction at which they feel that way.</p><p>For Mr. Cooper, you sit, and you wait. Most of the other employees clear out, until finally, a bit after 5:30, Mr. Cooper’s office door eases open. You look around your seat, rushing to collect your things as he says, “You can head out for the day, Bev.”</p><p>“You sure? What about—”</p><p>You look up just in time to see Beverly gesturing toward you, before looking over to the door.</p><p>Well, then. You’re not quite certain what you were expecting, but it… wasn’t that.</p><p>At first glance, it is already quite clear that Mr. Cooper thinks himself a charming and amiable man. The kind of man who could talk a jury into not giving an innocent old lady a cent of her husband’s life insurance policy, and she would <em>thank</em> him for it. Most of the agents at Canyon Prop. &amp; Life <em>think</em> they are that man, when in reality, they radiate sleaze.</p><p>But the frustrating thing is, you can’t shake the feeling that Mr. Cooper might be… kind of right.</p><p>The agent is smiling gamely at you, but nearly as soon as you make eye contact, he’s looking away, off and running with more instructions for Beverly. “That’s alright. I’m assuming this is about the… Clearwater case, right?” He frowns and looks back at you, waiting for you to nod. Then his eyes are on Beverly yet again as he reverts to a smile. “I have all of his materials pulled together already, so I should be able to take it from here.”</p><p>“Alright, Mr. Cooper,” she’s saying, but he hardly seems to hear her. He finally steps out of his office toward you, holding out a hand to shake. “Thanks so much for waiting, ma’am. What d’you say we get this Clearwater business sorted out?”</p><p>“Let’s,” you agree with a patient smile. Mr. Cooper gestures for you to enter his office, which you do.</p><p>His office is relatively small – smaller than yours, you note with a hint of pride – but it is tidy and arranged to maximize the space: bookshelves along one wall, filing cabinets along another. Couch beneath the window that offers quite a respectable view of the park across the street. And facing the window, his desk, with a very comfortable-looking chair for Mr. Cooper and two stiff-looking <em>things</em> on the other side.</p><p>“Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Cooper,” you say, stopping in the middle of the room and turning around at the same time that he eases the door shut with a soft <em>click</em>.</p><p>“Oh, please, ma’am, call me Bud.” He strides over to his desk and settles into his chair. “Shall we sit?”</p><p>You don’t even give it a moment’s pause before you’re crossing your arms and strolling toward the bookshelves absent-mindedly. Performing absent-mindedness. “No, thank you, I’ll stand. I’ve been sitting for a while out there.”</p><p>Bud hums lightly. “Suit yourself. So, what seems to be the problem with the Clearwater case file?”</p><p>“In the briefing that I received, you accused my client of filing for an updated policy a year before his boat sank. But my client unfortunately lost his copy with the boat, and I can’t find his original policy anywhere in the documents you sent over, so I have no proof that this policy existed in the first place.” You’ve been skimming over the books, taking in a lot of bland titles on insurance and taxes, but now you turn around to look at the agent—raised eyebrows and a stern quirk to your lips. “Based on what you just said to <em>Bev</em> out there, though, I imagine you already know that.”</p><p>He’s leaning back in his chair, watching you thoughtfully. One of his hands has settled at his chin, his index finger stroking the thin mustache on his upper lip.</p><p>This man is performing, hard. And it is unnerving how sincere it feels.</p><p>“Yes, now that you mention it, I do recall that we had some trouble finding that paperwork.” Bud’s eyes trace over your face, then flick over the rest of you—not for long, but long enough that you have no doubt that he wants you to notice. “Why do you need it, exactly?”</p><p>“<em>Why</em>?” you echo. You move closer to the desk, and after assessing the situation for a moment, you sit on the edge—over him. The toe of your heel dangles within a hair’s breadth of his pant leg. “So that I can provide my client with the best possible defense.”</p><p>“Right, right, I get that,” he says, his tone indifferent; almost flippant. “I just mean that Clearwater obviously sank the boat himself, so I’m a little confused about why you’re chasing down one little policy. You can’t honestly think that it’ll <em>help</em>.”</p><p>Jesus. None of the other agents have ever made such an explicit suggestion that <em>you</em> might believe your clients to be guilty.</p><p>Even though, plenty of the time, you know very well that they are. But something something everyone deserves a legal defense. If both you <em>and</em> your clients just happen to walk away with a paycheck, then so be it.</p><p>And here’s the thing—you gaze down at Bud Cooper, and you could almost swear that he’s articulating your client’s guilt not to ruffle your feathers, but to test you. To see what you’ll say.</p><p>You lean a little closer and speak softly. “If you really believed that, why would you intentionally keep the paperwork away from me?”</p><p>His lips purse into a smile.</p><p>Looks like you passed.</p><p>“Maybe it’s not about Clearwater,” he offers.</p><p>Whatever you expected him to say, it wasn’t that. For just a moment, your brow furrows in sincere confusion. You return to a neutral expression as quickly as you can, but something in the way Bud’s eyes light up tells you he noticed. “Is there another party in this case that I don’t know about?” you ask. Trying your darnedest to sound nonchalant.</p><p>Bud sits up and eases out of his chair. His hand lightly grazes your knee as he steps around you, striding toward the window. “The weather forecast that day predicted a <em>downpour</em>. He went out near those rocks expecting a storm, but the rain didn’t come. I don’t need to hide an old policy from his lawyer to know that we’ll be able to convince a jury, especially once we factor in all of his gambling debts. That man needed a pay-out, and you and I both know it.”</p><p>You pivot your body to watch him, using this time, with him facing away from you, to appraise the agent as thoroughly as he quite openly appraised you. This man in his neat, well-fitting suit. He carries himself with absolute certainty.</p><p>Perhaps – in an irritating sort of way – you’re attracted to him.</p><p>He reaches the couch while you’re staring, and you realize for the first time that a manila folder sits on one of the cushions. He picks it up before turning to walk back toward you, still talking. “But maybe I heard about you, from some of the guys here. Maybe I sat in on that case last month where you defended Mr. and Mrs.… Roberson, wasn’t it?”</p><p>Now he’s back at the desk. He drops the folder unceremoniously on the surface, where it lands inches from your thigh. And he tilts his head just slightly, his gaze searching yours. He’s not even that close to you, in the grand scheme of things, but it feels uncannily intimate. Your faces are level and you can’t quite breathe.</p><p>“You cost us a hefty bit of change, ma’am. Should’ve been an open and shut win for us, but you took Hal to the cleaners during the cross examination.”</p><p>Ah yes. Hal. One of Canyon Prop. &amp; Life’s most pitiful agents.</p><p>“What’s your point, Mr. Cooper?” You speak softly, and you see a smirk tugging at his lips when you call him by his last name even after his instruction.</p><p>“My point…” Bud’s voice is low too. His eyes drift down your face, lingering on your lips, and again, you have no doubt that he wants you to notice. “Is that I’ve been waiting for one of my clients to hire you.”</p><p>You curl your fingers around the edge of the desk, gripping it tight, but in no other way do you let on that he’s starting to truly rattle you. “If you wanted pointers on how to win cases, you could’ve just made an appointment.”</p><p>“No, I don’t think so.” He shifts his posture from one foot to the other, and suddenly he is closer. Somehow you don’t mind. “I think you like having to chase down a troublesome scrap of paper for people who don’t fucking deserve it. You like waltzing out of court, or out of these offices, and feeling like you left our agents trembling with fear. And I think you came here today hoping to do the same thing to me.”</p><p>“Did I?” You raise an eyebrow. “And what did you get me into this office for? If not to sabotage my client’s case.”</p><p>The moment he smiles, your heart stutters, because you feel certain that you asked the wrong question. That his answer might break you.</p><p>“Maybe I’d like to see <em>you</em> trembling.”</p><p>Fucking <em>hell</em>.</p><p>“You don’t scare me, Bud.”</p><p>“I don’t quite think that’s true.” He licks his lips, and it is <em>fine</em>. You are fucking <em>fine</em>. “But I also think you know that’s not what I meant, darling.”</p><p>Right now, part of your brain knows that you should push him away and climb off the desk. Grab that file and fucking leave. But you find that you can’t quite bring yourself to move. Or talk. Or do anything but stare.</p><p>Bud leaves his words hanging for what feels like an eternity, and it’s agonizing. You feel your lips parting just slightly, and you know very well that it’s not to speak—you can practically feel his mouth on yours already, but you refuse to bridge that gap.</p><p>The agent finally puts you out of your misery. “If you can honestly tell me that you don’t want me to kiss you right now, I’ll gladly watch you walk out that door with the Clearwater file and never pull this bull shit again.”</p><p>You cannot honestly tell him that. Of course you fucking can’t.</p><p>“I’m pretty sure kissing you would be a conflict of interest.”</p><p>His mouth is <em>so</em> close. Fuck. You feel his breath on your cheek, and you could swear that you might die if he doesn’t touch you soon. “Who said anything about kissing now? I’m thinking a nice dinner after you lose your case. Assuming we can even make it to dinner.”</p><p>“Dinner,” you echo. Swallowing sharply. “After I win.”</p><p>Fingers press against your waist, feather-light, and your eyelids flutter, practically closing as he whispers, “Is that a date?”</p><p><em>Yes</em>. But you don’t feel like you can get the word out, so you grab for his necktie and kiss him instead.</p><p>Bud groans into your mouth at once, pulling your chest flush against his at the same moment that you try to yank him closer. This man, this <em>stranger</em>, traces his tongue along your bottom lip, and it’s not enough. One of his hands spreads your knees apart so that he can slot in between them, and it’s not enough. The fabric of your skirt tightens against your legs, pulling up to settle much higher on your thighs and exposing much more of your skin, but it’s not fucking enough.</p><p>Your desire for him has been building almost from the moment he opened his office door, accumulating into a desperate need for more, for everything, now.</p><p>And the thing that really gets you is that his kisses betray just as much desperation. For as much as Bud was trying to play it smooth, he can’t seem to stop touching you now. One of his hands tucks under your skirt and dances across your thigh while the other settles at your jaw. He tries to coax your head into a different angle, and with the abrupt movement, you accidentally bite down on his lip.</p><p>From the way he groans again, louder, you really don’t think he minds.</p><p>Meanwhile, you fumble to unfasten his belt. You pull the strip of leather free and toss it carelessly to the side, the metal clattering softly against the floor at the same moment that you’re untucking his shirt and unzipping his fly.</p><p>He finds purchase first.</p><p>You exhale, “Fuck, Bud,” when you feel the pads of his fingers against your damp panties. It’s only now – with just your underwear between Bud and your pussy – that you’re aware of how wet you already are. As if it wasn’t enough that you’re newly sensitive to the soaked fabric when it’s pressed more firmly against your own skin… You can feel it in his hitched breath, that he wasn’t expecting this. Wasn’t expecting you to already be wanting him so damn much.</p><p>Low and a little husky, he breathes, “You want me to touch you, darling?”</p><p>“What do you think?” you whisper back. You palm him through his pants as you speak, making him grind against your hand involuntarily.</p><p>He exhales a string of expletives, fingers curling into your panties in tandem with your hand tucking into his pants.</p><p>Both of you let out breathless gasps at each other’s touch. His cock is only half-hard, and as you give him a few slow strokes, you ghost your lips over his jaw. “This what you thought you’d get when you dragged me out here, <em>Mr. Cooper</em>?”</p><p>Perhaps his breath shudders in your ear, but his thumb has found your clit and you’re not much better as he begins to trace slow, steady circles over the bundle of nerves. You shift your hips along with his movements, and you let out a soft whimper at the same moment he tells you, “I hoped for it, sweetheart.”</p><p>It startles you how <em>earnest</em> Bud sounds.</p><p>And then he presses two fingers into your cunt, making you moan.</p><p>He practically purrs his next words. “I’d give anything to make you come apart right here.” You’re stroking him with more urgency, following the lead of his fingers as they press in and out of you. “Bet you’d look so pretty, spread out underneath me on this desk while I fuck you.”</p><p>“Fuck me, then,” you instruct him. Your voice sounds horribly needy to your own ears, but you’re beyond the point of caring. All you can think about is his fingers inside of you.</p><p>How good they feel.</p><p>How much you long for him to replace them with his cock, hard and slick with his own pre-cum from your tender strokes.</p><p>Bud gives you a long kiss. He’s pressing into you even faster and harder now, massaging your clit more deliberately. Fucking your hand like he should be fucking you.</p><p>And then he pulls back enough to whisper, “I agree with you, though, sweetheart.”</p><p>You let out a gasp and grind against his hand when he touches you <em>just right</em>. “What d’you mean?” You can barely get the words out.</p><p>“This is definitely a conflict of interest.”</p><p>Suddenly he is gone. His hands are no longer touching you and he’s eased your hand out of his pants before stepping away, out of your space. You open your eyes, and your jaw drops as you take him in. Just as rumpled and flustered as you must look, his erection straining at his pants.</p><p>Eyes dark as he puts one finger, then the next, into his mouth, licking them clean while he takes you in.</p><p>“Wh-” you begin. You <em>whine</em>. “Just fuck me, Bud.”</p><p>“No, I don’t think I should just yet.”</p><p>Your breathing is ragged and you can hardly think of anything but the desperate throbbing between your legs, but you see the expression on his face and you understand him intimately. “You couldn’t care less if it’s wrong.”</p><p>He hums, and he’s fucking smirking again. “But you care, darling. Which means that when you question me in court next week, you’re going to have to look at me and know that you’d have gone through with it, except that <em>I</em> stopped you.”</p><p>God.</p><p>Maybe you should hate him.</p><p>Instead, you’re still fucking turned on. You’d still go out with him after this case.</p><p>And judging by the way he softens just slightly… “After that, though…”</p><p>You straighten yourself up and nearly leave the Clearwater file behind, until Bud says, “Don’t forget what you came here for, ma’am.”</p><p>It doesn’t feel like you’re reading into it when you hear the double meaning behind his words.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time you ever sat down as the chief defender on a case, you already felt at home in the court room. Now, with years under your belt, you feel quite assured in thinking of it as <em>your turf</em>.</p><p>And that remains true with the Clearwater case. For two days, you carry yourself in court as the self-assured powerhouse you know that you are. It doesn’t matter that he probably sank his own boat for the insurance pay-out—you’re really fucking good at your job. You’re equipped to convince the jury to doubt, if only enough to sway them to a “not guilty” vote instead.</p><p>But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting when you stand in front of Bud Cooper on the third and final day of testimony. Fucking Bud Cooper, with his charming smile and shining eyes, just a bit darkened by desire at the sight of you <em>on your turf</em>.</p><p>Each answer to your questions is matter-of-fact and professional, which is upsetting because it means that it’s just <em>him</em> that has you a little bit flustered. He knows it, too, smirks over it, and that only makes things worse. You imagine him taking you right there on the witness stand, or against the judge’s bench, and you cut your line of questioning short.</p><p>The proceedings wrap up shortly before lunchtime, and after the judge sends the jury out to deliberate, you, too, are cleared to take a break.</p><p>It does not come as a surprise when you’re having your fill at the drinking fountain and realize that Bud is directly behind you. Just a little bit too close.</p><p>“Congratulations, ma’am,” he says, his tone over-cheery. “I think you fed them enough horse-shit that they might have to argue about it for a little while before agreeing that he did it.”</p><p>You roll your eyes, more than a little irritated, but relieved that – on your turf – you have this small power to shut him up. “Can’t talk about the case out here, Bud.”</p><p>“Right, of course.” A nod and a frown suggest an apology that you know he doesn’t mean. Lowering his voice slightly, he continues, “I’ll just keep my court-related compliments to myself, for now. Which is probably for the best, since most of them are intimately connected to all of the things I wanted to do to you while watching you work.”</p><p>Fuck. Your gaze darts over the hallway, which is far from empty. No one is standing within earshot, but you still can’t shake the feeling that someone will know. That they’ll see how much he’s getting under your skin with just a few words.</p><p>“It’s been a few years since I finished law school, so I can’t remember for sure, but I’m almost positive you’re not supposed to say things like that to the opposing counsel.”</p><p>With these words, you turn on your heel and stride down the hall, as though storming away will <em>say</em> something. And you suppose, at least, that it <em>does</em> say something that Bud trails after you. From a few feet behind you, he asks, “Is it in poor taste to say, ‘so sue me’?”</p><p>You glance back and raise your eyebrows. “It is when I know that suing you would only turn you on.” His devilish smile tells you that you’re right.</p><p>Maybe that turns <em>you</em> on, a bit. Or a lot.</p><p>“Not as much as the mistake you just made.”</p><p>The <em>mistake</em> you just made? Coming to a stop, you turn on your heel to look at him. “What are you talking about?”</p><p>Bud tucks his hands into his pockets, tracing his eyes over your features. His expression betrays an unnerving combination of satisfaction and… curiosity. “I might be fairly new to Canyon, but you’re not the only thing my co-workers told me about. They know their way around this courthouse pretty well. Including the fact that <em>that</em> closet--” He points to a door a few feet away, directly beside a fire exit. “--is where people like to go for a quick fuck.”</p><p>Oh.</p><p>You hadn’t even… Your mouth goes dry as you look around, because he’s right. You’ve led him away from the main thoroughfare of the courthouse, toward some rarely-visited rooms used for paper archives that the city’s been too cheap to digitize.</p><p>Perhaps the stray intern or private citizen will need to get into one of the archives for some reason or another, but otherwise, no one comes down this hall. Except to—</p><p>“So either you came this way on purpose, or it was subconscious.” Bud tilts his head to the side, considering you. “Which one is it, though, darling?”</p><p>What can you say? The truth feels entirely too vulnerable – because if you brought him here subconsciously, that says so damn much about the impression he’s made on you – and you know that he’ll see through a lie in an instant.</p><p>Instead, you ask him a question of your own, despite the fact that you know your mileage has varied when it’s come to trying to trip Bud Cooper up with <em>questions</em>. But at least it gives you room to stall. “What does it matter either way?”</p><p>He doesn’t answer for some moments. Back in his office, and then in the court room, he was far more consistently snappy in his responses. It’s one of those moments… Maybe you’d be concerned that he’s been putting on a <em>show</em> of being attracted to you if it weren’t for moments like this. “It doesn’t matter either way. I just want to know whether you’ll tell me the truth.”</p><p>You stare at Bud, heart pounding in your throat.</p><p>Quietly, he tells you, “I haven’t been able to make myself come without thinking about your hands on me.”</p><p>The offering is far from romantic, but it doesn’t really need to be. It makes your heart race and arousal pool in your gut. This man, with all of his charm, all of his gravitas, was affected by you enough that he’s needed to think about you to get off.</p><p>So you make a confession of your own. “I haven’t been able to make myself come since you kicked me out of your office.”</p><p>Bud licks his lips as these words hit him. Yet again, it seems like you’ve managed to render him briefly speechless. “Are you gonna let me help you with that, darling?”</p><p>And you decide to tell him the truth.</p><p>“I’m not sure.”</p><p>The case is finished, after all. Nothing left that either of you have control over now. So, what’s to stop you from going into that closet and letting him devour you?</p><p>Except just plain <em>fear</em>.</p><p>He takes another look around the hallway—the very empty hallway. Then, slowly, decisively, he steps toward the closet. “I’ll just… be in there, I suppose. While you think about it. If you <em>don’t</em> want to come and join me…” Bud shrugs, and is it just you or is he trying hard to conceal his disappointment at the very <em>thought</em>? “I still owe you dinner for crushing you in court.”</p><p>Before you can fire back a retort, he has the door to the closet opened and then closed, with him inside.</p><p>You barely give it a moment’s thought before you take quick strides to the closet yourself. Door open, you get the slightest glimpse of Bud’s lips quirking up into a smirk before you are shut away in the dark together. But it’s not like you needed to be able to see him—not with the way he has you pressed against a wall at once, kissing you eagerly.</p><p>“Fuck,” you breathe, as soon as he shifts his lips from your mouth to your neck. “Missed your mouth, Bud.”</p><p>“You don’t even know what it can do, yet, sweetheart.” As if to emphasize the point, he bites your skin where your neck meets your shoulder, and you let out an abrupt gasp at how firmly he presses his teeth into you.</p><p>Well, damn, you have no doubt that’s true. Still—the thought of it has you arching against him. His body is close in the dark. So damn close. Your eyes have adjusted a bit to the lack of light, but not enough to see much more than an outline of your surroundings, and it means that every sound he makes, every breath of a touch, is amplified. It <em>hurts</em>, to crave him this much.</p><p>“Gonna show me?” you whisper.</p><p>Bud sighs against your skin, his shallow, hot breaths sending goosebumps all over. You shudder when his hand is suddenly tracing over your jaw; you hadn’t even seen it coming. When he reaches your chin, he grips it between his thumb and forefinger, which keeps your face quite still when his mouth brushes against yours. “Will you say please?”</p><p><em>Please</em>. You’re pretty certain that, in this moment, you’d beg for it if he asked. Drop to your knees, even, if he asked you to. “Please eat me out, Bud.”</p><p>The words come out as a shaky whisper, and you think it must get to him, a little bit, because his grip tightens on your waist where his other hand is settled there. “Alright, darling.”</p><p>For a few long moments, he kisses you again. He tastes your mouth almost lazily, like you have all the time in the world, and maybe you do. Maybe it’s you and Bud Cooper, alone in a dark closet for the rest of eternity. What a good, good future.</p><p>His hand traces down from your face to your neck, grazes over your breast on its way down your torso, and even though his touch is gentle – almost tentative – it sends shivers through you. You know that he’s slowly, carefully preparing to get underneath your skirt again, but there’s a certain thrill to being unable to <em>see</em> his movements or expression. It only heightens your anticipation.</p><p>When his fingers reach your skirt, Bud almost immediately gets rougher—he holds you by the hips and presses you more firmly against the wall. The gesture makes you gasp into his mouth, and Bud’s <em>thrilled</em> about it, bunching the fabric up in his hands as he deepens your kiss. Meanwhile, you’re fumbling to get a better grip on him and grinding against nothing; hips squirming underneath his touch but he’s not close enough for your pelvis to find any purchase against him.</p><p>Bud grins against your mouth. Pulls back into the darkness and whispers, “I know, sweetheart.”</p><p>It is nothing but his hands on you, the sound of one of his knees cracking as he kneels down on the floor. And then he hooks his thumbs through the top of your panties, pulling them down roughly. “Don’t need these anymore.”</p><p>No. Good fucking riddance. You step out of them and let out another gasp when Bud almost immediately presses you against the wall again, his hand splayed flat across your stomach. “Can you stay still for me, sweetheart?”</p><p>You hum your agreement. “However you want me, Bud.”</p><p>“Just like this,” he whispers. “Wanted to do this since the first moment I saw you.” And then there are his fingers, between your legs.</p><p>You’ve been craving his touch since he first gave you a taste of it, but again, the darkness intensifies it all: the suddenness with which his fingers trace over and then fill you; the strong smell of his aftershave intermingling with the scent of your own arousal; the low groan he lets out when he feels how wet you are. “Well fuck me.”</p><p>“Maybe later,” you retort. You’re trying to sound playful, nonchalant, but his mouth has joined his fingers and you falter over the words. Instead, you exhale, “Fuck, Bud,” like a prayer.</p><p>Because he’s just the right amount of aggressive, his tongue and fingers finding a rhythm not <em>at once</em> but <em>quickly</em>. You lean your head back against the wall and stare up into nothingness, brow furrowing and voice trembling as you sporadically whimper fragments of sentences. <em>Fuck</em> and <em>yes</em> and <em>just a little bit to the</em>…</p><p>And then his fingers press into you <em>just right</em> and you buck against his mouth, relishing in the way his tongue hits you harder and his fingers hit you deeper. You hold the back of his head tight, gasping in an eager breath. “Oh my God, I’m…”</p><p>Into it, you’re so agonizingly into it, but from the back of your mind, you feel it—how hung up you are on the craving you’ve had since he touched you in his office. In <em>this particular moment</em>, his fingers and his mouth are exquisite, but it is not what you want.</p><p>“Now,” you say, nails digging into the back of his neck. “Want you to fuck me now, Bud.”</p><p>Suddenly his tongue is gone, and from beneath you, he asks, “You sure, sweetheart?”</p><p>As if you weren’t already sure, his voice is low and husky, and you want nothing more than for him to be whispering filthy things in your ear when he brings you to a climax. So you nod, breathless, before remembering that he can’t fucking see you. “I want you inside me when I come.”</p><p>“Fucking hell.” Bud’s on his feet at once, his breath a little ragged when he’s level with you again. One of his hands finds your neck, pulling you close, into another kiss. Both of you are even more desperate for each other now; pleasure courses through you at the taste of your own arousal on his tongue, and at the sound of him unbuckling his belt one-handed. He scatters kisses across your cheek and jaw and neck, groaning, “You hungry for my cock, darling?”</p><p>“Been thinking about it all day,” you whimper. At your words, Bud takes hold of your hips and lifts you up against the wall hard, making you gasp. “From the moment you walked in the court room.”</p><p>Longer than that, too, and based on the way he bites at your neck, you think he knows it.</p><p>You moan the moment he’s inside you, and maybe you’d feel self-conscious about it if it weren’t for the fact that <em>he moans, too</em>. “Fuck, sweetheart, you’re so perfect around me. Wish I’d fucked you on my desk when you begged me to.”</p><p>Tightening your legs around his waist, you whisper, “It was sexy that you didn’t.”</p><p>Bud smiles against your neck, thrusting into you hard and drawing another moan from deep within your throat. “Yeah, that’s what you want, isn’t it, sweetheart? You need someone who plays your game as well as you do. Someone who admires what you can do.”</p><p>“Is that you, Bud?” The words barely come out, shaky with his firm, even thrusts. You can feel your walls beginning to clench around him, and the first time, his cock twitches inside you and his breath catches. “Can you play my game?”</p><p>He kisses your skin tenderly, and you are fucking melting in his arms—his mouth on you and his body in front of you and his cock, buried inside you, the only things you can think about. The rich, clean smell of him intermingling with the unmistakable scent of sex clinging to the both of you. And he fucking murmurs, “I will if you’ll let me.”</p><p>Your arms tighten around him as you come with a gasp, because <em>yes</em>, you’ll let him. You’ll take fucking anything from Bud Cooper if it means that you can have him like this.</p><p>Bud responds at once, shifting from your neck to capture your mouth again. You moan into his mouth as your orgasm courses over you, and Bud clutches you tight, his thrusts rougher and more forceful in pursuit of his own release. When he comes with his own desperate cry, you, too, swallow it, kissing it away. He spills himself inside of you and you <em>revel</em> in it.</p><p>Neither of you speak for what feels like an eternity. It’s just slow, steady kisses, your body wrapped around him, his cock still inside you while you slowly, absent-mindedly roll your hips against him.</p><p>“There’s a nice Italian place I like,” he tells you at last, like this was a conversation you’d been carrying on the whole time.</p><p>And you can’t help but giggle. “I like Italian.”</p><p>It is a peculiar sort of tender, although he’s quick to make you realize that he’s not finished fucking with you a few minutes later when you’re straightening yourselves up and you ask, “Where’d you put my underwear?”</p><p>“Oh, I was thinking I’d hold onto them for now. Maybe give them back in the morning.”</p><p>You still can’t see him, but you’ve got no doubt that he’s smirking. And you very much want to be angry—angry because you can feel a trace of his cum on your leg and those panties might not help much as his cum continues to leak out of you, but at least it’d be <em>something</em>. Yes, you want to be angry.</p><p>But you also want to kiss him again.</p><p>You don’t give him the satisfaction of either response. You pull the door open, and you leave—walking straight into the intern from your firm, who looks slightly frantic. This is <em>before</em> he processes that you’re emerging from the fucking <em>sex</em> closet and that you weren’t alone; then his eyes widen as he tells you, flustered, that he’s been looking for you for the past five minutes because the jury has their verdict.</p><p>He casts an embarrassed glance at Bud before turning back toward the court room and rushing away, and you roll your eyes at the shit-eating grin on Bud’s face. “You ready to lose, sweetheart?”</p><p>“I was about to ask you the same question.”</p><p>You stride ahead of him toward the court room, biting your lip at the thought of his cum still inside you. Biting your lip at his cavalier whistling as he follows you.</p><p>Biting your lip five minutes later when the jury gives their “not guilty” verdict.</p><p>From across the court room, you meet Bud’s eye. If the expression on his face is any indication, you suspect the two of you will be too busy to make it to that <em>nice Italian place</em>.</p>
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